The Case of the Missing Detectives
by Little Jessit
Summary: After Sherlock's fall, John finds himself in the middle of a string of police kidnappings. At the same time, he has a growing suspicion that his friend may not be dead after all. John can only hope he lives long enough to find out the truth.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note:_ W__aving from behind a large rock._ Hi there! While I've read many amazing stories on in the past, this is my first contribution (hence the hiding behind rocks). It hasn't been Brit picked or beta'd, so all mistakes are my own. Please R&R if you have the time. Thank you for reading, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own BBC or any of its characters. I'm just borrowing, but promise to return them in time to film the rest of Season Three.

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**Chapter 1**

John Watson stood in the living room of 221B Baker Street, wondering how he had ended up in a standoff with a police Sergent. _In nothing but pajamas_, he sighed to himself. _A bit not good. Wasn't this exactly the sort of thing that should have stopped after Sherlock jumped?_

He was tired, groggy, and becoming distracted by an infomercial blaring on the television behind him. _Focus. Deduce the situation_, a voice in his mind instructed. Realizing that his thoughts had wandered, John squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. What did he know about the man standing across from him? First, he was not a stranger. He worked under Detective Inspector Lestrade. John had met him once, just days earlier. The man had been recently transferred to Scotland Yard, and previously served in the army. A sharpshooter, if John remembered correctly. _His name was Mellon? Morgan? No – Moran._

In the back of his mind, John heard sirens several blocks away. Without breaking eye contact, he let out a small sign of relief. _Mrs. Hudson must have called the police. It will all be okay soon_.

As if hearing John's thoughts Moran said, "You're not getting out of this one, Dr. Watson. I know what you've done." Despite the beads of sweat forming along his hairline, John shivered.

"This is some kind of misunderstanding." Moran responded with a sharp laugh.

The sirens were louder now, just outside the window. Someone was knocking on the front door. A momentary pulse of relief ran through John before he realized his predicament. He would need to convince a room full of policemen to trust him over their colleague. _Highly unlikely._

John sighed again, wondering how he had gotten into this situation. _Oh yes_, he remembered, _my blind date two weeks ago. __How could I have forgotten?_

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

John made a point of arriving early for his blind date. Entering the restaurant, he was quickly seated and ordered a bottle of red wine. When it arrived he took a large gulp from his glass to calm his nerves. If John were being honest with himself, tonight's date was completely unexpected.

It had taken John nearly a year after Sherlock's death to start dating again, but he had quickly given up after a few failed dinners. In a fit of desperation several months earlier (after a particularly bad date) he had created a profile on an online dating site. Nothing ever came of it, and John had all but forgotten about the account. Then, just last week, he had received a message from a woman asking him to dinner. Her online profile had seemed perfect for him: blonde hair, soccer player, middle school science teacher.

_Almost too perfect_, Sherlock's voice had whispered in the back of John's head.

_I will at least try to act like a normal human being_, John responded.

_Normal, _Sherlock's voice scoffed, _boring!_

_I may not have a "mind palace", _John thought, _but I do have a "mind cupboard". _With that, John pushed Sherlock's voice into the cupboard, locked the door, and tossed aside the key. Then he arranged his date.

Now, waiting alone in the restaurant, John's paranoia returned. What were the chances that a woman would message him out of the blue? John could almost picture Sherlock yelling from behind a locked door, _Let me out of here, John! Fine, suit yourself. Enjoy your date. Do you know she lied on her profile? She actually has brown hair, recently got liposuction, and is stealing from the school cafeteria._

John chuckled quietly aloud, before remembering that he was sitting alone in the middle of a crowded restaurant. Best not to draw attention. _At least I'm not talking to a skull,_ he thought, almost causing himself to laugh aloud again.

_Just _g_ive her a chance, _John chided, once the urge to laugh had passed, _you haven't even met the woman yet._

Lost in his thoughts, John didn't hear his date approach until there was a hand resting on his shoulder. Before he could turn his head he heard a familiar voice, "At least one resident of 221B knows how to respond when a woman says 'let's have dinner'."

Looking up at the face before him, John realized his mouth was gaping. Irene Adler. The Woman. _The dead woman_, he thought to himself. She leaned in and let her lips lightly touch John's cheek, as if to prove that she was not a ghost. "It's been too long," she said, sitting down opposite him.

John's mouth remained open, and he was having difficulty catching his breath. _How can she be alive? Mycroft assured me she was dead. _Fleetingly, John wondered if perhaps even Mycroft had been fooled. For some reason he found the thought discomforting.

"Why are you here?" John said forcefully, causing heads to turn at a few nearby tables. He could feel his temper beginning to rise. Funny how that always seemed to happen when The Woman was around. Irene tilted her head and intensified her glance.

"I'm here because we want the same thing."

_Somehow I doubt that_, he thought, skepticism obvious in his expression. Refusing to be the next to speak, John crossed his arms and looked at her expectantly. Rather than answer John's question Irene smiled and picked up her menu, "I hear the duck is amazing."

For a moment John stared at the back of her menu, confused. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to deduce that Irene had something to tell him, yet she seemed more interested in food than conversation. Suddenly he remembered: knowledge was her power, her insurance. She wasn't going to give it up easily. John folded his arms across his chest, hung his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. _She wants me to beg for it._

After a deep breath John raised his head and opened his eyes. Irene had put down her menu and was looking at him expectantly, a slight smile on her lips, as if she drew pleasure from John's discomfort. In as controlled voice as possible, he said, "Please enlighten me, Ms. Adler, why are you here?" John gestured to the small, candlelit table they were now sharing.

"Don't you mean _how_ am I here?"

Trying to control the impatience in his voice, John continued, "I supposed I do, now that you mention it. Any answers would be welcome, really. I am entirely at your mercy."

Irene looked at John and must have decided that this was as close to begging as she'd get from the army doctor. After taking a long sip of her wine, she began speaking.

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Hmm, what could Ms. Adler have to say? Stay tuned...

This story is entirely drafted and will be updated often, I promise!


	3. Chapter 3

"Well," Irene began slowly, "I suppose that explaining _how _I'm here will also answer_ why _I'm here." John nodded, encouraging her to continue. "After Sherlock unlocked my phone my options became, well, limited. I no longer had much leverage. Mycroft could have made me disappear, but that wouldn't have been as...amusing for him." The bitterness was evident in her voice.

"Initially I went into hiding in Turkey, but quickly needed more money. Mycroft had not been generous. I decided that I would have to tap into my insurance." She stopped momentarily to wave her phone at John. "Since I knew Mycroft was watching me, I couldn't sell state secrets. I was also no longer considered a trustworthy collaborator by Jim."

"Moriarty," John interrupted, unable to stop himself.

"Yes," Irene continued, "he no longer trusted my information, knowing that I had made a deal with Mycroft. Despite these limited options, I still had information – valuable information – if I could find the right buyer." John realized what Irene was implying.

"So you went to Pakistan to sell information about Moriarty." Irene nodded, and John let out a low whistle under his breath.

"Or so I thought. Little did I know that Moriarty, like Mycroft, had been keeping tabs on my movement. The 'buyer' ended up being another of Moriarty's men. Apparently he's global."

"It still doesn't explain how you are siting here in front of me."

"Sherlock." John found his jaw dropping for the second time that night. "It was an accident, really. He was tracking Moriarty's network and noticed that they were plotting to kidnap an Englishwoman in Pakistan. It didn't take him long to put the pieces together."

When Irene finished speaking she returned to sipping her wine. John was slumped in his chair holding his head, trying to process what he had just heard. Finally, he broke the silence, "so what is the point of knowing all this now? It's just another adventure of Sherlock Holmes. It doesn't do me any good."

"Doesn't it?"

"I don't follow."

"Obviously." Her imitation of the consulting detective was too much for John. Without responding he rose and left the table.

John stood over the bathroom sink considering what he had just heard. He knew that The Woman was not to be trusted, yet couldn't fathom how she could benefit from lying to him. _Besides_, his mind told him, _her story doesn't seem that far-fetched_. _Sherlock had always been willing to risk his "transport" when seeking out an adventure._

Even if her story was true, John still did not understand why she had bothered telling him. Looking at his reflection, he felt that something important was just beyond his grasp. His mind worked in high gear.

_If she's telling me the truth, Sherlock saved her from being killed. A pretty typical day in the life of Sherlock Holmes. But Mycroft honestly thought she was dead. Everyone did. Sherlock didn't even tell me the truth, despite his usual need to share all thoughts aloud._

John gasped aloud as the implication of Irene's story clicked into place. _It wasn't just a rescue mission. Sherlock had done more than just save Irene—he helped fake her death!_

_If Sherlock could do that for Irene Adler, why couldn't he do it for himself?_

_It's just a theory, just a crazy theory, _John rationalized. _W__orst-case scenario, I am overestimating Sherlock's abilities._ John could live with that, because it allowed for a best-case scenario: that Sherlock might somehow be alive.

When John returned, the table was empty.

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	4. Chapter 4

In the early weeks after Sherlock's death John had many restless nights. He'd often find himself falling asleep, just to be woken by nightmares of his flatmate on St. Bart's roof. On these nights, John would quietly sneak downstairs and creep into Sherlock's room. He thought that if he sat on Sherlock's bed staring at the periodic table for long enough, he might begin to understand his friend's motives for jumping.

Over time, John had fewer nightmares and spent fewer nights in Sherlock's room. Before his dinner with Irene Adler it had been several months since he had slept downstairs. Now, confused by the powerful potential of her words, John found himself sitting on Sherlock's bed, reviewing his options.

Even if Sherlock _could_ fake his own death, it didn't mean that he _did_. _Only Sherlock Holmes could make being dead so confusing._

John needed to investigate further, and that would require some assistance. There were few people he could approach with his new theory about Sherlock. Molly would be far too upset, given her affection for Sherlock; Mycroft too dismissive; Mrs. Hudson too emotional. He was left with one option: Lestrade. At least his friend wouldn't judge him too harshly. Having made up his mind, John finally drifted off to sleep on Sherlock's bed.

The following morning John woke early, dressed, and headed to Scotland Yard. Since Sherlock's death John and Lestrade had remained in touch. Now, their time spent together was more likely to be over a pint than a dead body. John had to admit that it was an improvement.

On his way to the Yard, John texted Sarah to say he was sick and unable to work at the clinic. It was his first time lying to Sarah since Sherlock jumped. He felt a pang of guilt, but not regret; he needed to talk to Lestrade.

John entered the building and made his way to Lestrade's office. Knocking twice he tried the handle, found the door unlocked, and pulled it open.

"Good morning, John," the DI greeted amicably, "how did the date go last night?" John rolled his eyes, and Lestrade raised his eyebrows in a questioning response. "That well, huh?"

John cleared his throat with an awkward cough and began speaking, "While I could tell you quite a story from last night, I'm really here to talk about—um—Sherlock." John looked down and shifted uncomfortably on his heels, waiting for Lestrade's reaction.

If it were possible, Lestrade's eyebrows reached even higher. It had been over a year and a half since Sherlock's death, yet the DI and John had never openly discussed his suicide.

"I know this is going to seem crazy, so I'm just going to say it. I think Sherlock may not be dead." Lestrade could not hide his look of confusion, but a knock on the door saved him from having to respond.

"Come in," the DI instructed, taking the opportunity to mask his shock.

"Morning, Detective Inspector," said a friendly voice. A man of about 35 stood in the doorway. From his stance and dress John guessed he had served in the military. In his mind John heard, _Afghanistan or Iraq?_

"Good morning, Sergeant Moran, how can I help you today?"

"It's the Brighton case, sir. We've picked up a suspect who will be arriving here shortly. He'll be ready for questioning when you are."

"Thank you, Moran. Nice work. Just give me a call when the suspect has arrived."

"Will do, sir, and sorry to interrupt," Moran said, his eyes moving between Lestrade and John, clearly speaking to both men.

"Not a problem. In fact, Sergeant Sebastian Moran, I'd like you to meet Captain John Watson. He's a good friend of mine who has helped with a number of cases over the years." John stepped forward to meet Moran's hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, Sergeant Moran."

"You as well, Dr. Watson."

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	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who has been reading. I apologize in advance for the short chapter, but I will update tomorrow, I promise!

tardis-blue-jay: Moran? Up to something? I don't know what you could mean...

Riverdalerider99: I'll try to update daily from here on out, hope you like it!

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Once Moran had shut the door Lestrade explained how Moran had come to Scotland Yard from Hampshire. Before joining the police services he had been with the army in Iraq. "He was trained as a sharpshooter. One of the best marksmen I've ever seen. As good as that bloke who shot the cabbie a few years back," Lestrade explained. John couldn't help but smirk at the memory of his first case with Sherlock.

Lestrade began to talk casually with John, hoping to get to the bottom of this new theory. "I have to admit John, this seems a bit...er...out there?" He wanted to be supportive, yet did not want to indulge his friend in an unhealthy delusion.

John began pacing Lestrade's office, making the DI even more nervous. "I know how crazy this sounds, Greg, I honestly do. I thought the same thing at first."

"But?" Lestrade prompted him.

John paused, unsure of how to explain without mentioning Irene.

"But," John continued, "what would you say if somebody told you that Sherlock had helped them fake their death? That he did such a good job that not even Mycroft knew..."

Lestrade was quiet, considering his friend's words. Using Lestrade's silence to his advantage, John quickly added, "it's at least worth looking into, but I need your help—particularly access to files, records, reports—anything you might have from around the time of Sherlock's death."

The DI weighed his words carefully. No matter how impossible the idea seemed, John looked pretty certain. Lestrade was reassured by John's desire to review case files before getting himself into any trouble. "As unlikely as this may be," he said, "I honestly hope that Sherlock is out there somewhere, doing God knows what. I'll allow you access to his case files to see what you can turn up."

"Thank you, Greg. I promise this will not become a circus. I'll revisit the autopsy report, crime scene photos, and have a chat with Molly to make sure that everything reported at the time of his death checks out."

"Alright John, and come to me if you find anything out of the ordinary." As unlikely as that scenario was, Lestrade couldn't help but think, _if anybody could fake his own death, it would be Sherlock Holmes_.

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	6. Chapter 6

Lestrade provided John with a small office space at Scotland Yard to conduct his "investigation". Over the next several days John spent all of his time outside of the clinic at the Yard, reviewing what Lestrade had shared on Sherlock. Files and papers were scattered across his desk, the floor, and taped to the wall. Sherlock had a surprisingly long police record that went back nearly two decades. Despite the fact that the man was dead, John did not want to pry into his friend's past. He narrowed down the files to those weeks leading up to and then following Sherlock's death.

From time to time Lestrade would check in on John to see how his work was progressing. For the first three days John barely looked up from the files, acknowledging Lestrade only with a curt nod. By the fourth day John had reviewed every document—including certificate of death, autopsy report, and bystanders' statements—at least twice, and felt that he had committed the most important details to memory. It was time to begin confirming the information from sources directly. First would come Molly, and perhaps, despite John's dislike of the man, Mycroft.

_No time like the present,_ John told himself. After saying a quick goodbye to Lestrade, John hailed a cab to St. Bart's. Since Sherlock's suicide John had difficulty visiting the building. When he did have to enter his old school he was careful to avoid looking up at the rooftop. He saw it frequently enough in his dreams.

When John entered the morgue Molly looked up from her microscope, clearly startled. "John, hello! Been a while, hasn't it?

"Yes, Molly, sorry about that. I guess this place has some bad memories for me." Molly nodded and looked away, hurt. As soon as the words has left his mouth he regretted them. Of course Molly understood John's feelings. _Perhaps she avoids looking at the roof, too,_ he thought.

Trying to quickly move past his awkward entry, John continued, "I'll be honest, Molly. While it would be lovely to have a chat, I'm here because I need a favor from you. I just need to confirm a few things about Sherlock's autopsy report and death certificate. Do you think you could help me?"

As John finished he smiled at Molly, whose face had turned pale.

"I...I don't know..." Molly stammered.

"I know how difficult it is to think about him. About what happened to him. But I promise that I won't ask you about it ever again."

"It's not that I don't want to help you, John," her eyes pleaded with him not to make her continue. He held her gaze, and slowly she lowered her head. "When he...jumped," she paused and swallowed hard, "things were a bit chaotic. The media tried to get a peek. A man in a suit identified Sherlock and then left in a hurry. The body had barely been in the morgue for 30 minutes when more men arrived. At first when I saw their suits I thought they were looking for the first man. Instead they stormed in demanding that they be allowed to remove the body. We tried to argue that we hadn't even established cause of death when they flashed badges, mumbled something about national security, and...and took him."

As it had during his conversation with Irene Adler several days earlier, John's jaw dropped. If he wasn't careful it would turn into an awkward habit whenever women spoke to him. A long pause told John that Molly had told him all she knew.

"Thank you, Molly. You've been a huge help." John could tell that she was near tears. He hugged her, then excused himself quickly. Walking out of the morgue, John replayed Molly's words. From what he could deduce, it sounded like someone in a position of great authority had Sherlock's body removed before it could be analyzed at St. Bart's. Certainly no autopsy had been completed there. John only knew one man with enough power to essentially steal a body in the middle of an investigation.

"Mycroft," he said aloud. _But what could he have to hide? _There was only one way to find out.

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	7. Chapter 7

Stepping out of St. Bart's and into the daylight, John hailed a cab. Sitting in the back seat, his mind was racing. A brief conversation with Molly had turned Irene's unlikely story into a plausible theory.

The cab slowed to a stop, and the driver turned his head to John. He thanked and paid the cabbie before stepping out onto the sidewalk. After instinctively squaring his shoulders, John entered the Diogenes Club. When a man at the entrance tried to stop John, he said, "Holmes," without breaking stride and stormed into the club.

John spotted Mycroft immediately, despite the fact that the man's face and torso were hidden behind a foreign newspaper. Before John could say a word, Mycroft intoned, "hello, John. This is rather unexpected," from behind his paper. He then folded it carefully and placed it in his lap.

"Yes, well, the past few days have been full of surprises for me. I thought I'd pay it forward."

"I see."

"No, I don't think that you do." Their conversation was earning them a few glances from other club members. Mycroft stood and strode out of the room. John followed, scowling. Once they were standing outside John continued his rant. "What happened after Sherlock jumped, Mycroft?"

"Well, I supposed a lot of things happened, John. You grieved, worked longer shifts at the clinic, and began to sleep in my brother's bed from time to time. Of course I'm just assuming that the last bit is new."

John blushed slightly. Doing his best Sherlock impression, he rolled his eyes. "I mean, what happened to Sherlock's body? Molly said that men in suits removed it from the morgue almost immediately after you ID'd Sherlock. A bit suspicious, yeah?"

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably, and John thought he was on to something. "John, I have no idea what you are talking about. You're right, I identified the body, but it was analyzed at St. Bart's before being cremated. The headstone is simply a placeholder. Surely you've seen the police reports."

_Cremated, _John's mind shouted, _there's not even a body!_

"The reports are a fake, Mycroft, and you know it."

"I'm sorry John, but I don't know what to say to these...theories," the last word was said with great distaste. "I can't help you."

Mycroft watched the army doctor storm off down the street, then returned to the club. He spent the rest of the afternoon staring thoughtfully out the window, his newspaper forgotten in his lap. Mycroft had to admit that Dr. Watson was full of surprises.

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	8. Chapter 8

John spent the remainder of his afternoon and evening wandering about London, considering what he knew. Rather than dissipate his anger at Mycroft, John's walk seemed to have strengthened it. _Why did talking with Mycroft always lead to more questions than answers? Why would he prevent an autopsy? Why would he have Sherlock's body removed? What did Mycroft have to hide?_

Eventually finding himself standing in front of 221B, John pounded up the steps to the flat. After removing his jacket he put on the kettle for tea and opened the refrigerator. _No bloody milk._ In a fit of fury John did something he had not done for over 18 months. He took out his phone and texted Sherlock. Childish, he knew, but satisfying.

_Text message sent 9:27PM:_ Where are you? Need milk. -JW

Throwing his phone onto the couch, John turned back to the kitchen to turn off the kettle. He had just opened a cabinet in search of something to replace the tea when he heard a sound from the living room. _It couldn't be_, he thought to himself. Unless he was going crazy, he had just heard his phone's text alert noise. John's heart skipped several beats. _It could just be a coincidence – Lestrade wanting to grab a pint, or Harry complaining about another fight with Clara._

After rummaging around in the sofa cushions, John picked up his phone. Sure enough, a new text message had arrived, but from a blocked number.

_Text message received 9:36PM: _32 Church Street. 10:00PM. Might be dangerous. -SH

Looking at the clock, John saw that it was nearly twenty minutes to ten. A quick estimate told him that, if he were lucky and caught a cab right away, he might be able to make it to Church Street in time. John threw on his jacket and ran halfway down the stairs before turning around. _Might be dangerous_, the text had warned. He ran up the stairs to his bedroom and removed his gun from his bedside table. Then he flew down both flights of stairs into the street, not registering Mrs. Hudson's scolding as the door slammed loudly in his wake. As if on cue, a taxi turned onto Baker Street.

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	9. Chapter 9

The outside of 32 Church Street was quiet when John arrived. In fact, the entire street was quiet. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was 9:57PM. _Three minutes to spare_. John eyed the street, trying to find an inconspicuous place to wait and watch. He chose a doorway across from number 32, its overhang creating a shadow for John to hide in. Then, he waited.

The minutes passed, but the street remained silent. At one point John heard movement, causing him to hold his breath, but he exhaled loudly when a cat wandered out of a nearby alley. All-in-all, it may have been the longest 20 minutes of John's life. When John's watch read 10:23PM he reluctantly gave up. He kept checking over his shoulder as he walked to find a cab, half expecting to see Sherlock step out of the shadows.

On the cab ride home John took out his phone and began typing.

_Text message sent 10:31PM:_ ? -JW

John had barely walked through the door of 221B when a wave of disappointment hit him. Until that moment, he hadn't realized how much he had hoped to see Sherlock again. Without thinking John went straight to Sherlock's room and sat on his bed. _Perhaps I missed something in the text._ John pulled out his phone and reread the message. It seemed so straightforward; so Sherlock. _What am I missing? Why won't he write me back?_ Eventually John's exhaustion overcame his frustration, and he fell asleep clasping his phone.

When he awoke in the morning John headed to Scotland Yard to tell Lestrade about the text. The man would probably shake his head at John's foolishness for following the text's instructions, but John needed the DI's help.

On his way, John's stomach rumbled loudly. _When was the last time I ate?_ _Nearly 24 hours ago._ He was not hungry, but made a mental note to eat something following his visit to the Yard. _Is this how Sherlock felt during cases?_

While the Yard always had a constant buzz of energy around it, today things were downright hectic. There were so many people on Lestrade's floor that it took John 10 minutes to find the DI, who was yelling into Anderson's phone.

Seeing John, Lestrade waved him over and ended his call. "Guess you've heard the news?" he said to John.

"No, actually, I haven't. What's going on?"

"Sergeant Donovan went missing last night. She had dinner with her mother and then never returned to her flat. Needless to say, she didn't show up for work this morning. We're assuming it's a kidnapping, although there's been no note, phone call, nothing. Anderson, sitting next to Lestrade during this synopsis, looked crestfallen. John felt a rare pang of sympathy for the man.

Before John could mention his text, Anderson's phone began to ring again. Lestrade pointed at the phone and said to Anderson, "answer that, keep them on hold; I'll be there in a minute." He then turned to John, "Sorry things are a bit crazy, but it was good to see you. Let's meet up Friday night—have a pint. Hopefully I'll have good news to share by then."

"Yeah, that sounds good. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help with Sally."

"Thanks John, I will." With that, Lestrade swept back to Anderson and joined in the heated discussion that was occurring over the phone.

Outside of Scotland Yard John took a deep breath. He had begun to feel slightly claustrophobic while inside. Considering the news about Sally, John was even less interested in food than before. He still made himself stop for a sandwich at a nearby cafe. As he finished his meal he heard his text alert noise, and froze. _The text! I forgot to show Lestrade the text._

Cautiously, as if worried his phone would explode at his touch, John opened the message.

_Text message received 11:17AM:_ Overwhelmed at clinic – can you fill in this afternoon? - SS

It was just Sarah asking him to work an extra shift. He could always use the money, and it might help take his mind off things.

_Text message sent 11:18AM:_ Of course, be there in 30 mins. -JW

Tossing away the remains of his early lunch, John hailed a cab and headed to the clinic. It turned out that a stomach bug was going around, overwhelming the clinic while causing many of its staff to become ill. John spent much of the following three days trying, sometimes unsuccessfully, to avoid projectile vomit.

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A/N:Poor John, nothing is ever easy for him. He really needs that drink with Lestrade!

Thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! It means a lot to hear from you all. It also keeps me on track with daily postings ;-)


	10. Chapter 10

By Friday morning John was exhausted and barely had time to ponder why he hadn't received any new texts from the mysterious -SH. On the rare occasions when he did think about the text, he always reached the same conclusion: _If it was Sherlock, why didn't he show himself? If It wasn't, why wasn't I robbed, kidnapped, or murdered? _It seemed highly unusual that someone would lure him out in the middle of the night just to stand in the cold.

Late on Friday afternoon John heard his text alert noise, but was tending to a boy's broken arm and unable to check his phone. _Probably Greg confirming for tonight_, he thought briefly before returning to his patient. John didn't have a free moment until he clocked out, and headed directly to Scotland Yard to meet Lestrade.

If it were possible, the Yard was even busier than John had seen it on Tuesday. He found the DI holed up in his office, staring at several case files laid open in front of him.

"Hi Greg. We still on for tonight?"

"Huh?" Lestrade looked up, surprised to see John in his doorway. "Oh yeah, of course. I'm just going over Sally's file again."

"So nothing has turned up?"

"No, and I've got to tell you, things aren't looking good. We haven't heard a thing from the kidnapper. Plus we've been understaffed since Anderson was taken off Sally's case and given a few days' leave. Poor Moran has been doing the best he can filling in, but it's a lot for a new guy to handle."

"I'm sorry that I haven't been around these past few days. I wish that there was something I could do. It's the sort of case that Sherlock would have been all over."

"Yeah, well, we'll have to make do with our boring little minds, won't we?" Lestrade said, actually smiling. "Oh, do you mind if we stop by Anderson's on the way to the pub? I just want to see how he's doing. Maybe he'll join us. I haven't heard much from him since Tuesday."

"Sure, of course."

The two men continued to chat as Lestrade drove to Anderson's. Soon they were walking up the front steps of a small brick building. Lestrade knocked, waited, and then rang the bell. Nothing but silence answered them.

"Maybe he's out?" John offered.

"Maybe, but that's his car in the driveway," Lestrade said, pointing at the vehicle. "I don't have a good feeling about this."

John reached for the handle. "It's unlocked," he said, surprised. Lestrade pulled out his gun and nodded to John, who pushed open the door.

"Hello? Anderson?" John yelled.

Together they searched the house. While there was no sign of Anderson, there also was no evidence of foul play. Eventually they left the house and headed back to the car. "Let's call it in to the Yard, and have a forensics team see what they can find. I normally wouldn't be so jumpy, but with Sally missing..." Lestrade reached for his phone before remembering he had left it in the car.

"Here, use mine." John removed his mobile and began to pass it to the DI when he remembered the text message, forgotten from hours earlier.

_Text message received 3:40PM:_ Come to 7801 Garden Terrace immediately. Your assistance is needed. - SH

John, standing at the end of Anderson's driveway, looked as his mailbox and gasped. The house number, written in a clear, bold font, was 7801. John glancing up the street, already knowing what he would see on the sign: Garden Terrace. Things had just gotten much more complicated.

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	11. Chapter 11

John jumped into Lestrade's car, closing the door forcefully behind him. Lestrade followed suit. Once in the car he turned to John and opened his mouth to speak. John gestured for him to wait.

"Greg, where was Sally Donovan last seen?"

"What?" Lestrade asked, caught off guard by the question.

"Sally, where was she last seen by anyone?"

"Um, she had dinner with her mother on the night she was taken."

"Where does her mother live?"

"Somewhere quiet, about an hour outside of London, I think."

"So nowhere near Church Street?" John inquired, just to be certain.

"Now hang on—when she first disappeared we put out a missing person's report. A cabbie came forward who recalled dropping off a woman fitting Sally's description on Church Street, but we thought the lead was a dead-end." Lestrade frowned, "How did you know that?"

"Look at these," John said, as he pulled out his mobile and opened the two text messages from -SH. "After the first text I waited at Church Street for 20 minutes but saw no one. I received the second text this afternoon, but just read it now."

"What?" Lestrade cried after reading the texts. "John, why didn't you tell me immediately? You could have gotten yourself in serious trouble."

"Honestly, I guess I was wanted to believe that Sherlock was out there, solving cases...maybe even needing my help once in a while. After the first text I tried to tell you, but Sally had just disappeared. I forgot."

"This is exactly what I was worried about when I let you dig into Sherlock's files. You can't forget about your own safety."

"I know, I know. But what if it's Sherlock and he's trying to stop the kidnapper...or lead us to him?" John offered.

"Or, what if it _was_ the kidnapper?" Lestrade countered. "All we know for certain is that someone is directing you to crime scenes before the crimes occur. You have to admit, it's a bit...weird."

"Not for Sherlock," John replied quickly.

"Either way, we need more information." After a few moments of silence Lestrade added, "I think I know how to get it."

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	12. Chapter 12

While John thought Lestrade's plan sounded good in theory, it depended on another text from -SH. He waited on edge all weekend, but his most exciting text was from Mrs. Hudson announcing fresh biscuits. Now it was Monday night and John was reading in his favorite chair. He had just dozed off when he heard the sound he'd been waiting for.

_Text message received 11:31PM:_ 65 Eddleton Lane. 1:00AM. Be sure you aren't followed. - SH

Quickly skimming the text, John shared the information with Lestrade.

_Text message sent 11:32PM: _65 Eddleton Lane. 1:00AM. -JW

With the address sent John called Lestrade. "If this follows the pattern, that'll be the site of the next kidnapping," John rushed, before the DI had a chance to greet him. "Does anyone on the force live near there?"

"Not that I know of, but let me pull up a map to confirm." There were a few moments of silence on the line as the DI found Eddleton Lane. "No, and it seems that address is the site of a recently-closed restaurant."

"Okay, I'm heading there now. Remember, no backup. I'll behave as I did at Church Street, and you try to find a position with a good view. Once I leave, text me your location and I'll join you at your post. Hopefully we can learn something about the texter or stop a kidnapping."

"Or both," Lestrade added, almost to himself.

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	13. Chapter 13

It was 1:20AM and John Watson was standing alone in front 65 Eddleton Lane. If all had gone to plan, Lestrade was in a nearby building scoping out the site. In just a few minutes John would catch a cab, pretending to leave the area. Once a few blocks away he would double back and join Lestrade, if the DI texted John his location.

An unexpected chill ran down John's spine, and he suddenly felt like he was being watched. He shivered and remembered that he _was_ being watched—by Lestrade. He turned towards the main road, which he could see just a few hundred meters away. One more impatient glance at his watch told John that it was 1:25AM, time for him to "give up". Trying to keep his pace casual, he felt like he was being watched even more closely than before. John was a few dozen meters from the road when he heard something soft behind him. It may have been the wind blowing a bit of rubbish, or it may have been a muffled footstep. Before John had time to turn and find out, something hit the back of his head forcefully, and darkness overtook his vision.

When John came-to he was sprawled on the sidewalk, his body cold and damp from a light sleet that had begun to fall. Pushing up his sore body to sit on the curb, John groaned and gingerly felt the back of his head. A dark, wet substance stained his fingertips. _Not just sleet, blood._

Patting the front of his jacket and reaching in his pockets, John could not find his mobile. Looking at his wristwatch, John saw the time: 2:03AM. Nearly 40 minutes from when he was attacked. While he could not check for missed messages from Lestrade, it seemed unlikely that the DI, seeing John being attacked, would have left him unconscious in the street. It also seemed unlikely that the street would remain this quiet if Lestrade had been able to apprehend the kidnapper.

A tightness grew in John's chest. Something definitely had not gone to plan. After all Lestrade's efforts to keep John safe, he worried that he may have put the DI in danger.

_Maybe he was never here. Maybe he was pulled onto another case. I have no way to check if he tried to reach me...  
_

Not knowing what to do, John headed back to 221B, hoping he didn't have a concussion. When he reached the flat he cleaned and dressed his head, changed into pajamas, and turned on the telly. He was determined to stay awake in case he had a concussion, and would have Sarah check him out at the clinic in the morning. Then he would stop by the Yard. He looked at his watch: 3:39AM. _Just a few hours, _John told himself, before turning up the volume on the television for good measure, _just stay awake_.

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	14. Chapter 14

The Chief Superintendent's phone rang seven times before he groggily answered, groping the nightstand for his glasses. The alarm clock read 4:27AM. He sighed into the phone, alerting the caller to his presence.

"Chief Superintendent, are you there?"

"Hmm? Yes, who is this?"

"I'm sorry, sir, this is Sergeant Moran down at the Yard. There's been another kidnapping. Detective Inspector Lestrade has been taken, sir."

The Chief Superintendent was wide awake now, hopping from one foot to the other in an attempt to put on pants while clenching the phone between his head and shoulder. "How do we know this? Do you have any leads?"

"Yes, we were called to the scene by a neighbor who heard a scuffle in the street. When officers arrived to investigate they found a mobile."

"Do I have to guess what was special about this mobile, or are you going to tell me?"

"It contained a text message to DI Lestrade directing him to come to an address on that street. It also contained two additional texts that included the last known location of the other missing officers."

"Sounds like our kidnapper. Do we know whose phone it is?"

"John Watson's, sir." There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"You mean that fellow who was always running about with that Holmes weirdo?"

"Yes, the same one. And there's more. From the content of Watson's text messages, we have reason to believe that Holmes may not be dead. He and John Watson may be working together to fulfill some sort of vendetta they have against the officers that outed Holmes as a fraud. Donovan, Anderson, and Lestrade."

"Find John Watson immediately and bring him in for questioning. You are now lead investigator on this case, Sergeant Moran."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Moran stammered, before hanging up the phone. He looked up at the building he was standing in front of: 221B Baker Street.

It was just too easy.

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	15. Chapter 15

John didn't know how it happened. One moment he was nodding off in front of a late-night infomercial..._or was it early morning?_ The next a man was bursting through his door. For a split second John thought that he may have fallen asleep. Then he felt the pain from the earlier blow to his head, and realized he was still awake. He lunged for his gun, which was thankfully nearby on the coffee table.

"I'm armed!" John said to the intruder, who was standing just inside the door.

"John Watson, you are under arrest for the kidnapping of Sergeant Donovan, Anderson, and Detective Inspector Lestrade." The voice was familiar. From the flickering light of the television John could see the outline of a man in police uniform, a gun pointed at John's chest.

_How have I ended up in a standoff with a police Sergeant? In nothing but pajamas_, he sighed to himself. _A bit not good. Wasn't this exactly the sort of thing that should have stopped after Sherlock jumped?_

He was tired, groggy, and becoming distracted by an infomercial blaring on the television behind him. _Focus. Deduce the situation, a voice in his mind instructed_. Realizing that his thoughts had wandered, John squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. What did he know about the man standing across from him? First, he was not a stranger. He worked under Detective Inspector Lestrade. John had met him once, just days earlier. The man had been recently transferred to Scotland Yard, and previously served in the army. A sharpshooter, if John remembered correctly. _His name was Mellon? Morgan? No– Moran._

In the back of his mind, John heard sirens several blocks away. Without breaking eye contact, John let out a small sigh of relief. _Mrs. Hudson must have called the police. It will all be okay soon._

As if hearing John's thoughts Moran said, "You're not getting out of this one, Dr. Watson. I know what you've done." Despite the beads of sweat forming along his hairline, John shivered.

"This is some kind of misunderstanding." Moran responded with a sharp laugh.

The sirens were louder now; just outside the window. Someone was knocking on the front door. A momentary pulse of relief ran through John before he realized his predicament. He would need to convince a room full of policemen to trust him over their colleague. _Highly unlikely._

Quickly, blocking out the sound of sirens and the footsteps of what sounded like all Scotland Yard, John asked Moran, "Why in the world do you think that I kidnapped anyone?"

Moran merely smirked and pulled John's mobile out of his pocket. John opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when he heard movement outside the door to the flat, just behind Moran. He braced himself for an onrush of police. Instead the door, which had been left ajar after Moran's entrance, slowly opened to reveal a lone policeman standing in the entryway.

"Dr. Watson," the officer began, "please come with us." The man then broke eye contact with John and lowered his gaze to John's chest. Unable to resist the urge, John looked down at his chest. A small red light was wavering over his heart. _A sniper,_ John chided himself, _I should have known to move away from the windows._

John knew his situation was inescapable. He nodded quickly, dropped his weapon, kicked it to the man in the doorway, and raised his hands. Moran quickly covered the distance between them, and handcuffed John roughly. As he shoved John forward towards the doorway, Moran whispered, "that wasn't so hard now, was it?"

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	16. Chapter 16

Mycroft was sitting in the Diogenes Club when he was handed a note by the man from the front desk. _Phone call for M. Holmes. Urgent._

Mycroft sighed as he hoisted himself out of his chair. Taking the telephone from the young clerk, Mycroft said, "Yes?" The one word dripped with disdain. The clerk, shuddering from a sideways glance from Mycroft, scurried away.

As Mycroft listened his face changed from a tight-lipped frown to a smirk. "Yes, of course, I've been expecting you. I'll send a car immediately. It was only a matter of time before you needed my assistance." Mycroft placed the phone back on the receiver, took his coat and umbrella, and walked out into rainy London. He had only taken a few steps before his car pulled up alongside him. It was going to be a long day.

Not long after, the black car pulled to the side of the quiet London road. A thin man stepped out of the shadows and sprinted into the rear of the car. The door had barely closed before it continued onward as if it had never stopped. Mycroft scanned the face of the man who sat opposite him. It looked haggard but determined.

"Congratulations are to be in order," Mycroft began, the sarcasm in his voice clear, "you did a splendid job with the cover-up. Even surprised me. Using suited men to remove the body was a clever touch. John seems to think that I was responsible for this entire debacle."

"It's not a debacle. It was necessary, Mycroft, as were the last 18 months. Surely you can deduce why."

"Considering John's current, shall we say, situation, I'd say it might have to do with him."

"Well done. I've been tracking the remainder of Moriarty's network in London, but John was still being watched by one of his men. At the moment I don't have enough data to determine if his arrest is related. There is a high probability that it is not a coincidence. Either way, I must now gather the proof of John's innocence, find the real kidnapper, and avoid Moriarty's network, all while remaining dead. My efforts would be far less taxing with access to certain classified information."

"So what you're saying is, you need my help."

"What I need, Mycroft, is CCTV footage of John over the past two weeks, as well as access to his mobile. We need to know where he's gone and who he's been talking to. We'll be looking for anything out of the ordinary."

Without responding, Mycroft picked up his mobile, dialed a number, and said, "I need comprehensive CCTV footage from the past two weeks of a Doctor John Hamish Watson, current residence 221B Baker Street. I also need an immediate report of all incoming or outgoing calls or texts for the following phone number." After providing John's number Mycroft hung up.

Sherlock Holmes looked at his brother, hoping that his face could express the thanks he was incapable of saying. Mycroft, understanding, nodded. Then, Mycroft's phone vibrated, alerting him that the report of John's phone activity had arrived via email.

Sherlock grabbed the phone from Mycroft's hands. Scrolling through the call list, it didn't seem that John had spoken with anyone unusual. In fact, it seemed to Sherlock that John didn't have contact with many people at all. Something tugged inside Sherlock's chest, but he brushed it away.

"Ahh," Sherlock gasped when he opened John's text history. "Mycroft, I think we may have a way to narrow down two weeks' worth of CCTV footage. It appears that someone lured John to various locations by pretending to be me." Mycroft raised one eyebrow slightly.

"Lucky for John, I've been monitoring the recent police kidnappings. The locations texted to John are also the last-known location of the abducted police officers. Whoever was texting John wanted to leave a trail of evidence connecting him to each crime scene. They were framing him for the kidnappings."

"Dear brother," said Mycroft, shaking his head, "they were framing both of you."

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	17. Chapter 17

The Holmes brothers spent the rest of the car ride in silence, interrupted only by another email alerting Mycroft to the CCTV footage he had requested. Sherlock fast-forwarded through the footage to the evening of the first text. On the screen, John was clearly visible, standing alone in a darkened street. Occasionally he looked at his phone or at his surroundings, as if expecting someone. Eventually John walked away, catching a cab to 221B.

_No helpful information. _Sherlock closed his eyes and steepled his fingers. _Data needed: any identifying information about the kidnapper. Preferred data source: footage of the abductions. Existing data about abductions: last-known location of missing detectives matches addresses texted to John. High probability that they are the kidnapping sites. Also extremely likely that the kidnappings occurred not long after the times texted to John, to create____ the most incriminating trail of evidence. John receives text, John goes to location, abduction occurs within 30-60 minutes._

"Mycroft, we need CCTV footage from 32 Church Street _after_ John left, 10:30PM to 12:00AM."

Sherlock waited another 20 minutes before hearing the sound of Mycroft's email alert. Sherlock quickly hit fast-forward on the new footage, watching several minutes of static fuzz over Church Street after John had hailed his cab. Then, suddenly another cab appeared in the camera's view, and Sally Donovan stepped out. Sally's behavior was very similar to John's. She looked unworried, casually checking her mobile and looking up and down the street as if expecting somebody.

Sherlock's body tensed as he saw the man approach Sally from behind. Before she was aware of his presence a hand and rag were pressed over her mouth. Considering how limp she became, Sherlock assumed that she had been drugged. _Likely chloroform_. As soon as she went down an unmarked van appeared on the street. Sally's body was hoisted in, and the man who had attacked her hopped into the passenger seat. _Under 40 seconds. Professionals._

Hitting rewind on the tape, Sherlock watched the man approach Sally again. _Clothing unremarkable. Hat and hood - mask face. Bulky jacket – hides true body size. Gloves – prevent fingerprints or trace DNA._ Then Sherlock saw the man's shoes. He had found his lead._  
_

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	18. Chapter 18

After being arrested John had remained calm. He was detained alone in a cell and given meals throughout the day, but was not questioned. He was too tired and distracted by the last two weeks to wonder why. _Irene Adler's appearance, texts from a -SH, and now this?_ Eventually, John fell asleep from exhaustion.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway awoke John with a start. Someone—no—several people, were walking towards him. Sure enough, the echo of footsteps stopped in front of his cell door. John could see the police guard on duty, and three men behind him in the shadows. The guard, clearly nervous, stated, "You are being transferred to a more secure facility," before quickly unlocking John's cell door, spinning around on his heels, and retreating down the hallway. John shuddered, suddenly aware of how vulnerable he was.

"A bit unorthodox, transferring a prisoner in the dead of night, isn't it?" John asked, trying to sound casual. None of the men responded verbally. Instead two men grabbed his elbows while a third stood behind him. Together, they began walking down the hall. John turned briefly, eying his cell, now wishing to be safely back inside.

The men pulled John out a side entrance of the police station. A black car waited for him, the read door open. The men shoved John towards the door, and then released his arms suddenly, throwing him off balance. "Get in the car," one man stated firmly. He then walked around the car and got into the driver's seat.

With a soft sigh John bent his head and entered the open car door, which was promptly slammed behind him. The car was dark, but John could feel a presence close by. John instinctively reached for his weapon before remembering that it had been taken from him. His movement was not missed by the other passenger, who laughed lightly, "always the brave soldier, aren't we? Well, you already know what I think of bravery." John's eyes widened and his gasp was audible in the quiet of the car.

"Mycroft."

"Hello, John." Mycroft nodded his head towards John before turning to his right and tapping the glass divider separating them from the driver. "Move on," he drawled, and the car sped off quickly. "Best to be far away before the police notice what they are missing." John simply nodded.

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* * *

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reading, following, and commenting. I really hope that you're still liking the story!

Onward!


	19. Chapter 19

"I thought you couldn't help me," John started in, angrily.

"The situation has changed, John."

"Obviously. For instance, I've been arrested and charged with kidnapping."

"When you came to me last week, you surprised me. At first I thought you were just upset, but then I received a call." John turned his head sharply to face Mycroft. "I think it will be best to explain everything once we are in a more secure location," he said, nodding towards the driver.

Eventually the car slowed to a stop, and Mycroft stepped out. John followed, and found himself looking up at a large, ornate house. "Welcome to the Holmes Estate, Dr. Watson." John could only stare.

As John followed Mycroft into the house, he felt uncomfortable. Seeing a more personal side of the man seemed downright invasive. Mycroft directed John into a sitting room, and exited momentarily. From what John could see, even this small room was elegantly decorated with expensive art and furniture. _Quite a residence for a man who occupies a minor position in the British government,_ John thought with a smirk.

John revolved slowly as he admired the art on each wall. Then, one painting caught his attention. The image showed a skinny boy of about seven with dark, curly hair, staring intensely out at him. "Sherlock." The name escaped John's lips as a whisper. Without realizing it, John took a step towards the boy and reached out his hand. His fingers were millimeters from the painting when he heard someone enter the room behind him. Startled, but not taking his eyes off of the painting, John began to explain, "I was just admiring this picture of Sherlock."

"Really, John? Admiring a picture of a young boy while in your pajamas. People might talk."

The voice was so familiar—a deep baritone full of sarcasm and a tinge of sadness. John spun around to face the voice, but too quickly. Blackness crept into the edges of his vision, and the world was no longer steady under his feet. As John fell to the floor all he could think was, _this will not help my concussion._

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	20. Chapter 20

When John came to he was lying in bed. At first he was certain that he had awoken in his cell in Scotland Yard, and that Mycroft had been a dream. As John became accustomed to the darkness he could see that he was certainly not in jail. For starters, rather than a pillow-less cell, John lay on luxuriously soft sheets. Turning his head, John could see somebody sleeping rather uncomfortably in a chair next to his bed. It would be like Mycroft to station someone to keep an eye on John.

John closed his eyes and his mind immediately flashed back to the night before. _I saw Sherlock. Or was it just a picture of Sherlock?_ The memories were unclear, and he was having difficulty focusing. Eventually, he drifted back into a light sleep.

_When John awoke again he was in a darkened room. Trying to sit up, he realized that he was restrained on the bed. Looking left and right, John saw Donovan and Anderson tied down in similar fashion. Fear rising in his stomach, John struggled harder to free himself. Suddenly, a figure stepped out of the shadows and took John's hand. John could not see the man's face, but there was something familiar about the touch. "Don't worry John."_

_Warm relief washed over John as he recognized the voice. "Sherlock? No offense, but I think I have reason to worry."_

"_Oh please, we've been in far worse situations. This only rates a six on the Bodily Danger scale."_

"_The what scale?! No, on second thought, I don't even want to know. Please just get us out of here."_

_Sherlock began to untie John's restraints. Suddenly, a second voice spoke out of the darkness behind Sherlock, "I know what you've done, Dr. Watson, and this time you won't be getting away."_

_John recognized the voice immediately. Moran._

"_Run, Sherlock, run!" Even as John urged Sherlock away, Sherlock's face contorted in surprised pain. John looked down at Sherlock's chest and saw a dark substance spreading on his right side. Then Sherlock dropped to his knees next to John. John, still partially restrained, could only struggle futilely as Moran's laughter echoed around him in the dark._

"_No! Sherlock, not again!"_

He's going to die next to me, and I can't do anything about it, _John thought._

"_Sher..."_

"John. John, wake up!"

"...lock!" John awoke with a start, covered in sweat. His chest heaved as if he had just sprinted a mile, and it took several breaths to get his panic under control. _It was just a dream,_ John reassured himself. Becoming more aware of his surroundings, John sensed movement next to him. When he went to push himself up in bed he found his right hand tightly clamped in someone's grip, as it had been in his nightmare.

"You know, dreams are just a tool used by your mind to process information and emotion it couldn't while you were awake. I supposed that explains my need for limited sleep..."

John was fully awake now, and registering the voice that was speaking to him. Turning his head, he looked straight into the eyes of Sherlock Holmes.

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	21. Chapter 21

"You're alive," was all John could manage.

"Obviously."

Since dinner with Irene Adler two weeks earlier, John had harbored a small hope that Sherlock was alive. Yet after all his research, nothing had prepared him to have Sherlock deducing by his side.

_Where had he...how had he...why would he..._John felt a sudden dizziness, and couldn't tell if it was due to a concussion or the man standing next to him. John breathed deeply, trying to steady himself. Finally, he gave Sherlock's hand a brief squeeze. _Definitely a real person. Not a dream._

As if reading his mind, Sherlock quietly noted, "I'm here John, this is not a dream. Although tactile sensations are not a fool-proof way to judge one's conscious state."

Finally releasing John's hand, Sherlock stood and began pacing at the foot of the bed. If they had been at 221B John would have sworn that the past 18 months never occurred.

"You jumped...I saw you jump..." Sherlock could almost see John's brain working in high gear, "...but you're not dead."

"Eighteen months ago Moriarty forced my hand. He made me jump to prevent him from killing you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. All part of his grand plan to burn me. I could not let him succeed."

"Or allow us to be murdered."

"Yes, of course," Sherlock replied, "but the point, John, is that it was not the end of Moriarty's game. After I jumped I continued to track down his network in London. From the information I was able to gather, I discovered that you were being watched by one of his associates. Moriarty must have thought, rightfully, I might add, that I was capable of faking my death. I supposed I should take it as a compliment."

Realizing he was diverging from his point, Sherlock continued, "I was trying to identify this individual when policemen began to go missing. While I tracked the kidnappings, finding Moriarty's man was my priority. As difficult as it is to admit, your arrest was completely unexpected. Fortunately, it was also far too coincidental—we all know there is no such thing as a coincidence. Your arrest provided me with data to form a new theory: that whoever was watching you was also responsible for your framing."

Sherlock's explanation was nearly complete, and he paced rapidly at the foot of John's bed. "This still fails to explain what triggered him to act or why he didn't just kill you."

"Reassuring."

The sound of John's voice seemed to break Sherlock from his reverie, as if unaccustomed to talking with anyone but himself.

"Even without a clear motive we can still learn about the kidnapper. From CCTV footage the nights of the kidnappings, we know one very important fact that might help solve the case." John looked at Sherlock, prompting him to continue, "The kidnapper's boots. They are army-issued."

"But I own a pair of army-issued boots somewhere, as do most veterans. It's not exactly enough to create a short list of suspects, is it?"

"On the contrary John, we also know that this individual or an accomplice works in a position of power within the government or police force."

"You didn't get all that from his shoes..."

"The CCTV footage, John, catch up. Once you were arrested for the kidnappings I reviewed CCTV footage provided by Mycroft, and remotely accessed the video on file at Scotland Yard."

"You mean you hacked into the Yard's database?"

"Semantics, John. When I compared the videos I realized that someone had tampered with the Yard's footage. Video of the kidnappings had been replaced with footage of empty streets. Whoever committed the abductions must have had access to police evidence to remove any video of the kidnappings. So, we begin by researching each police officer at the Yard to see who might be our suspect." Sherlock's eyes twinkled, thrilled to have an audience for his deductions once again.

John's mind suddenly flashed back to his dream. "I think I know the first name on our list." Sherlock's eyes widened, and John continued, "Sebastian Moran." He then proceeded to share what he knew about Moran with Sherlock.

"Brilliant John. Now stop lying around in bed all day and get dressed. Unless you'd like to stay in your pajamas." John's glare was enough to wipe the smirk off Sherlock's face.

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* * *

A/N: It's good to have the boys of 221B back together again!

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, I'm glad you're sticking with me. The end is near (kinda, sorta). For quality's sake, I may not be able to continue my daily postings. Please forgive if it takes an extra day or two for chapters. I promise it will be worth it!


	22. Chapter 22

"Are you even licensed to operate a vehicle?" John asked, skeptically.

"Boring!" John was not reassured.

Finally dressed in something other than his pajamas, John was sitting in a car with Sherlock outside of Scotland Yard. Dozens of policemen were streaming by their parked car, heading in to work.

John scrunched down a bit in the car, pulling his hat further over his face. "We are both fugitives from the law, Sherlock. Tell me again why we're here?"

"We need to follow Moran, John. This is the only location we know he is likely to visit today." John rolled his eyes but knew Sherlock was right. He was proved correct after only 10 minutes, when they saw Moran enter the building. Then, they waited.

The car was warm in the morning sun, and John was still exhausted from the last 48 hours. He must have dozed off, because movement next to him startled him awake. Sherlock was starting the car and edging into the road. John scanned his surroundings and saw what Sherlock was after: Sebastian Moran, climbing into a police car.

Sherlock allowed several vehicles between his and Moran's, but stayed close enough to keep his eye on the police car. Twenty minutes later, Moran parked outside of what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. Then, he exited the car, pulled open the warehouse door, and disappeared into darkness.

"Now's the time we call for backup, right, Sherlock?"

"Come along John, there's no time. Plus they'd just get confused and make a mess of the situation. You said it yourself, 'we are both fugitives from the law'." Of course Sherlock had found a way to use John's words against him.

"Alright, but you do know I don't have my weapon anymore..." Sherlock reached under his seat and pulled out two handguns.

"Courtesy of Mycroft," Sherlock smiled, handing one to John.

"This seems very illegal and quite dangerous."

"Exactly! Our areas of expertise. Now what are we waiting for?" Without another word both men stepped out of the car and made their way towards the warehouse.

The transition from light to dark inside the warehouse was temporarily blinding. It took John several seconds for his eyes to adapt to his surroundings. Once he did he could see a wide open expanse of concrete floor, high ceilings, and crates scattered about.

Sherlock saw the three shapes first, a few hundred meters away. He put one hand on John's arm, and gestured with his other. John could just make out the shapes in the distance. He nodded and began to move cautiously towards them, trying to find cover behind crates when possible. When they had covered half the distance John was certain of what they were—Donovan, Anderson, and Lestrade—all tied to chairs. Closing the distance further, John could see that all three appeared to be unconscious. Sally looked to be in the worst shape, her breathing shallow and infrequent. Without thinking, John's medical instincts kicked in and he ran towards the her. Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's recklessness but followed, unwilling to leave John alone without cover.

John was just a few meters from Sally when he heard the click of a gun's safety, and froze.

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	23. Chapter 23

"Welcome Dr. Watson! I didn't expect to see you again so soon. And I see you've brought a friend." Moran turned to face Sherlock, "we haven't been properly introduced..._"_

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "A pleasure, I'm sure. Let's cut to the chase, shall we? While mildly entertaining to watch, this entire ruse has been designed to draw me out of hiding." John's jaw dropped at Sherlock's words.

"Very good, Mr. Holmes, although I wouldn't expect anything less." Thoughtfully scratching his head, he added, "In fact, I expected more from you. I'm a bit disappointed that you're here."

Flustered by the exchange occurring in front of him, John cut in, "Wait a minute, how could this be about Sherlock? I didn't know he was alive until a few hours ago."

"Let's just say that I overheard your conversation with DI Lestrade, and found it rather convincing. Then, of course, I checked in on your research. Thorough," Moran said, approvingly.

"So you've lured Sherlock out and framed me. Job well done. What's next now? Finish what Moriarty started? Kill us?" John asked angrily.

Moran laughed and made a tisking noise "Have the last 18 months not taught you anything? There are things worse than death. I'm sure Mr. Holmes here could attest to that." Sherlock's body visibly stiffened at these words, and John felt a pang of guilt. He had not asked Sherlock about the last year and a half.

Moran saw that he had struck a nerve with both men and smiled. "I see you two have a lot of catching up to do. Unfortunately your time is about to run out. The Chief Superintendent should be arriving with backup any minute now." As if on cue, John could hear sirens outside the building.

_Great,_ John thought, _the second time in two days I've been surrounded by police_.

The warehouse door opened and light flooded in, along with at least a dozen policemen. Three officers tended to the hostages, while the remainder quickly encircled John and Sherlock. Sebastian Moran stood to the side, smiling.

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	24. Chapter 24

John and Sherlock, circled by police, raised their hands in surrender.

"Arrest these men," Moran said, gesturing towards an angry John and a stoic Sherlock.

The two were handcuffed, led out of the warehouse, and shoved into the back of a waiting police car. They watched as Donovan, Anderson, and Lestrade were brought out on stretchers and taken to ambulances.

"Dull, dull, dull," Sherlock intoned, resting his head against the police car's window, eyes closed. "Something about this still doesn't make sense. Moran cannot expect to retain his cover now that we've been arrested. Surely he knows that we have access to evidence against him. There's also a high likelihood that one of the kidnap victims will remember something that would point to him."

Sherlock closed his eyes in an effort to enter his mind palace, but John's voice interrupted.

"Well why would he draw you out of hiding at all? Why not just do what Moriarty instructed him to – kill me if you showed up?"

"Moriarty liked to 'play with his food', so to speak. If Moran has taken over Moriarty's network, perhaps there are new rules to the game..."

The sound of footsteps and jingling keys halted their conversation. The driver's side door opened and Moran got into the car.

"Well, it looks like we'll have an opportunity to find out," John added.

The car was silent as Moran situated himself in the vehicle, turned on the engine, and pulled away from the warehouse.

"So you've drawn me out – now what?" Sherlock asked, attempting to sound bored.

"Now the real fun begins, Mr. Holmes."

"You have a rather interesting idea of fun," John added hotly.

"Don't be anxious, Dr. Watson, you'll be fine soon enough. At least I think you will be. "

"Oh I suppose you're just going to let me go then?"

Moran looked at Sherlock. "Perhaps. It's really up to your friend here. You see, the police are soon going to discover that you were framed! You were never responsible for the police kidnappings. The culprit was an undercover agent of Moriarty's named Moran...with his accomplice, Sherlock Holmes."

John's eyes darted to Sherlock's, but he could not decipher what they saw.

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	25. Chapter 25

I see Doctor Watson here needs a bit more explanation. I suppose I should enlighten him. Unless you care to do the honors, Sherlock."

"No, continue, you're doing splendidly," Sherlock retorted.

"While Jim Moriarty was an exceptional man..."

John scoffed.

"...he was fixated on out-maneuvering the great Sherlock Holmes. London was one giant chess board, and each crime was Moriarty's attempt at a checkmate. But in all his scheming he missed an incredible opportunity. Why destroy such a great mind when you could recruit it? I see you look skeptical, Dr. Watson."

"You have met Sherlock Holmes – you've seen what he's like. Why in the world do you think that he'd work with you?"

"For me. He'd work for me, Dr. Watson," Moran corrected. He smiled at John as if he were a child struggling to understand a simple lesson.

Moran turned to Sherlock as he continued his speech. "He is a bit slow for a doctor, is he not? You know him best, why don't you try to explain the—what would you call it?—proposal before you."

Sherlock sighed in exasperation, but began speaking. "Moriarty found no value in us being alive, except for his amusement. We were a game to him. Mr. Moran, however, sees more potential in...us."

John could tell that Sherlock was leaving something out. "I follow that, but I still don't understand why you would work for them, Sherlock."

"Obviously I would not want to work for them John," Sherlock snapped. "They would need to hold something against me, to coerce me."

"You mean like blackmail?" John asked, catching on.

"Like leverage."

"Like a hostage," Moran cut in. "Say, for instance, you!"

"I thought you said you would let me go?"

"Yes, we will, of course, but we'll keep our eyes on you. We have lots of eyes. As long as Sherlock plays nicely, you can go about your business like nothing has changed – work at the clinic, grab a pint, maybe even go on a date."

John looked at Sherlock, finally understanding. _Using me as leverage._

"And if I decide to decline your generous offer?" Sherlock asked.

"It would be a shame if Dr. Watson had to start using that cane again, or if something happened to his hands. I know how much he loves to blog about his adventures with Sherlock Holmes."

"No, absolutely not," John responded. "This won't work."

"Well, don't jump to any hasty conclusions, this is really a group decision. I'll give you a moment to talk things over." Moran exited the car, leaned on the front hood, and pulled out his mobile.

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	26. Chapter 26

"No, Sherlock. Just...no. I will not let them use me as leverage against you."

Sherlock shifted to face John more fully, but his movements were constricted by the handcuffs around his wrists.

"While I admire your indignation, it's a bit too late. They have their leverage. Either we do what they say or they kill us. I don't believe we have much bargaining power at the moment."

"Fine. But you can't do this."

"I beg to differ. I believe I'm up to the challenge being presented to me. Or do you not think so?"

John hung his head. "I didn't mean you weren't capable of it, I meant that I couldn't live with myself if you did this."

"Sentiment." Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"Well-spotted. You're not the only one being challenged here! It was unbearable when you 'died' all those months ago."

"But you got through it once, you'll be able to do it again."

"I barely got through it, and that was thinking you were gone. There is no way I could go about my 'normal' life knowing that you were out there being forced to do God knows what. Knowing that there was nothing I could do to help you. Never mind the fear that Moran could renege on his promise and have me tortured or killed."

"I wouldn't let that happen."

"Sherlock, as difficult as this may be to fit into your incredibly large brain, you cannot control the entire world."

"That is an unproven fact," Sherlock huffed.

The corner of John's mouth twitched into a smile that faded quickly. "I've missed this."

Before Sherlock could respond Moran's face appeared in the window. He opened the car door and climbed back inside.

"So boys, have we come to a decision?"

John lowered his head, unable to bring himself to look at Moran. Sherlock had the opposite reaction, staring daggers at Moran.

"Ah, excellent, I'm glad you're both on board." Moran texted someone quickly and then began to drive again. Sherlock seemed lost in thought, and John kept glancing at the consulting detective next to him. After what seemed like a short while the police car pulled to a stop. Looking out the window, John saw a sign for Baker Street.

"Here we are, Dr. Watson," Moran mocked from the front of the police car.

John looked over at Sherlock before saying, "I'm not getting out of this car without you."

"Don't make it easier for them to hurt you, John. If you don't go along with this plan they will kill us both."

From the front seat Moran shrugged and nodded, as if to confirm Sherlock's statement. Then he spoke, "Not to fear, Sherlock, I anticipated that Dr. Watson might be rather moody about our new business arrangement."

At that moment a van pulled alongside the police car and opened its side door. Moran exited the car and opened Sherlock's door. Sherlock, attempting to maintain his haughty demeanor despite being handcuffed, climbed into the van without looking back.

John could only think,_ the man is barely back from the dead and he's going to disappear again.  
_

John was startled out of his reverie by the slamming of the police car door, locking him alone with his thoughts. He could do nothing but watch as the unmarked van carried Sherlock away.

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A/N: Ta-da! A nice happy ending, right? If you don't like it, blame it on the boys of 221b. I thought this would end with tea and biscuits, but Sherlock would have none of it. The adventure will continue, but in a new story. Sorry to those wonderful readers who were following - thank you for your patience and feedback!


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